[Comprehensive] Mrs. Holmes Daily

She is dead.

Sherlock didn't have any special reaction, just like what Mycroft said just now was just one of countless ordinary cases, and there was nothing special about it.

"Oh, the judgment made by the quack doctors in this hospital? Obviously their medical skills are not solid."

There was a storm in his dark gray eyes, but he said lightly:

"Move her to a hospital in London... No, move all the equipment to Baker Street, and I will treat her myself."

"I won't do this, you are not sober now, I can't let you go crazy..."

"No, I'm sober now. I've never been so sober."

Sherlock looked up at him, keeping his hands under the covers:

"There are many possibilities of misjudgment in death, and cardiac arrest cannot judge everything..."

"I know it's hard to accept, but you have to accept it."

Mycroft said quietly:

"But before she got that last slam, Atum had done something to her... She had a severe concussion, her shoulder bones shattered, and the ash from the first blast went straight into her lungs, Serious damage was done, not to mention the burns on her body..."

In the quiet ward, the cruel facts unfolded bit by bit in a narrative tone.

"I don't know how she got there, and I don't know how she raised her hand to open the lock with her right shoulder broken...Her willpower is no worse than those tough guys in the CIA, which is respectable, but willpower Force cannot bring her back from the dead."

Severe concussion?Broken shoulder bone?burn?

Sherlock closed his eyes abruptly.

He seemed to want to expel the terrifying images that appeared in front of his eyes, but he couldn't help recalling in his mind——

In the pitch-black tunnel, she was covered in wounds, her fingertips were scorched black, and she lay silently on the ground. Blood flowed from the top of her head, and she couldn't stop it no matter what.

--pain.

What kind of strange and domineering emotion is that?

It can't be stopped no matter what, it's like a chain reaction of chemical chains.

It took a long time for Sherlock to open his eyes, and his tone was undeniable:

"Where is she? I want to see her . . . now, immediately."

"She's in heaven now."

Mycroft repeated again:

"She could have survived if she hadn't wasted time by staying there trying to rescue her mother, Lady Caroline ... she almost succeeded."

"What I'm asking you is, where is she now."

Sherlock wanted to stand up, but someone on both sides immediately pressed his shoulders, so he struggled violently:

"Where is she? Mycroft, she ended up going through a long period of oxygen deprivation and now desperately needs someone to give her fresh hyperbaric oxygen..."

"Sherlock!"

Mycroft's usual calm face finally showed what could be called a stern look:

"Your legs need rest, lie down."

It's just that before his words fell, a pistol was already pressed against his forehead.

Because Sherlock's hands were locked, the person holding him down was only focused on handling his shoulders, ignoring his hands that could open all locks in the world.

His hands were under the quilt, and the lock had been unlocked at some point.

No, not only did he unlock it, he also put together the pistol that Ludwig broke in two.

Mycroft didn't look surprised:

"This lock is the latest, and the password is twelve binary, with a total of 28 digits... Where did you find the flaw?"

"It doesn't bother me."

Under Sherlock's calm eyes, finally revealed a faint madness:

"Take me to see her."

"You're crazy."

Mycroft quietly shook his gun hand:

"You've gone mad, Sherlock."

He has indeed gone mad.

From the moment he saw her body, his reason, his logic, his judgment...everything he was proud of had disappeared.

Anthea glanced at Mycroft, who was watching his brother's straight back, and said after a long while:

"Close the door and leave them alone for a while."

"But Mr. Holmes might do something out of the ordinary with Miss Ludwig's body..."

"Then let him do it."

Mycroft turned around and took the document handed over by the person next to him, and signed his name:

"No matter how you do it, it is impossible for people to come back from the dead."

"...Yes, boss."

The door closed slowly behind Sherlock.

And in front of him, his first and last little girlfriend was lying quietly on the bed, her face was bloodless, her lips were half-pursed, as if... as if she had died.

The sunshine in Paris is warmer than that in London, and there is no perennial fog, and it shines directly on her with a straightforward and warm sense of brilliance.

You are a liar.

Miss Ludwig.

……

Sherlock walked up to her and stared at her for a moment.

His steps were a little unsteady, after all, the two shots had penetrated firmly into his muscles.

Countless times, she fell asleep like this, entering an uneasy dream.

Besides her nightmares every night, he stood beside her bed, observed and recorded her reactions in dreams with the same eyes, and obtained important psychological analysis data. .

……

He was her doctor, had been, and was of course.

The drip bottle is hanging on the side, the needle has been pulled out...why do you have to pull it out?She is still hurt.

The back of her hand had been injected with too many needle holes, and there was no room left, so Sherlock had to insert the needle into the vein in her wrist.

Blood quickly spilled out.

She has been dead for a long time.

The blood splattered on the white wrist was dark red, like the juice of faded damask roses.

Sherlock bent down as if he didn't see it, and pressed his head against her chest.

He listened to the heartbeat for a while, stood up, gave her CPR a few times, then bent down and listened for a while, took out an epinephrine from the cart that the nurse hadn't had time to put away, and skillfully filled it into the needle , The whole shot into her heart.

Nothing works.

She remained silent.

She slept too deeply, so he put on another one.

Repeatedly like this, Ludwig's heart was continuously injected with four doses of adrenaline, which far exceeded the dose that a normal person should use for rescue.

……

why don't you wake up

His Miss Ludwig is bold, self-righteous, and less understanding of what defines a partner than he is.

When she came to, he was going to chain her up in Baker Street.

He should have locked her up long ago.

In case she always kicked him aside and ran to some inexplicable places alone.

And then... never come back.

……

"That's enough, Sherlock, she's dead, she was suffocated in the tunnel... But to appease you, the best doctors in France have been rescuing the dead for three hours."

Mycroft strode in, snatching the fifth adrenaline from his hand, while keeping his powerful and precise strike firmly in check with one hand.

Soon the men from Scotland Yard came in and locked his hands again... this time with stronger shackles.

"You'd better stay awake, Sherlock, because you don't have any capital to resist me when you are injured, and it is even more impossible to lose your mind."

Mycroft stood in front of him, straightening his messy cuffs, while Anthea was already standing behind him with a spare long black umbrella.

"We are sending her back to Baker Street now, back to your home, I will give you two hours to accept the reality that she is dead and come out, otherwise..."

He took the umbrella, and he was Mycroft again, the British Government:

"Otherwise, I don't mind sending her directly to the crematorium."

……

How familiar this sentence is.

Familiarity is like a sharp knife that ravages his heart.

It seems that not long ago, when she was experiencing the pain of life and death, he also said to her in this undeniable tone——

"He must be incinerated by eight o'clock tomorrow morning, or you will see him forever—in the form of a specimen in my laboratory."

At that time, was she also harboring great pain in her heart, her fingers trembling, clenched into fists... yet she still had to transport the corpse and arrange the funeral in oppressive calm?

……

The demeanor and tone of my speech at that time overlapped with Mycroft's turning back at this moment.

Cruel, cold, indifferent.

She will not have his hug when she is in pain, and he will not have his comfort when she is crying.

Did she know this, so she was never weak or demanding in front of him?

—Look what he has done.

When she was still alive, when she could still feel his warmth and hug, what exactly did he do to her?

……

Sherlock's hands were tightly restrained, and the gauze wrapped around his legs was stained red by the reopened wound.

He had never been so embarrassed and powerless in his life.

But never sober.

He had been a blind man and was only now beginning to see the truth.

221b Baker Street, United Kingdom.

Their venerable landlady, Mrs. Hudson, has returned from Greece, but when she happily opens the door to share her newly learned Greek snacks with Miss Ludwig, the only female among her renting guests, she is greeted with It's a corpse.

Or, two.

One of them was just walking.

Mycroft brought a cup of coffee for Sherlock himself - of course he didn't make it himself, the female assistant Anthea made it and brought it to him, and he condescendingly brought it to Sherlock.

"For the sake of your serious setback, do you want to play a game of chess to relax?"

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft:

"Are you free?"

"I'm busy, I'm leaving in 10 minutes."

Mycroft sat across from him leisurely, and took a sip first:

"So I just expressed my desire to comfort you, obviously you have received it... so the comfort is over."

Sherlock: "..."

His black umbrella is always at hand:

"Glad to accept reality, when are you going to have the funeral? Do I need to be there?"

"If you're going to a pink funeral."

Sherlock took the coffee, without mentioning the exact date of the funeral:

"Rather than seeing you at her funeral, I wish you could completely remove your body from my eyes... It's growing bigger and bigger, and my eyes can't hold it."

"...Seeing that you have regained your sharp teeth, I believe that you have really regained your sanity."

Mycroft raised the coffee in his hand and made a gesture of cheers:

"The dead cannot take away the temperature of the living... for your new life."